


You want my discs, Dream?

by Lexx40



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Child Death, Clay | Dream Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Crying, Depression, Emotional Manipulation, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, My First AO3 Post, Sad TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Suicide, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), soo exile arc huh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29261388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexx40/pseuds/Lexx40
Summary: Inspired by: https://www.instagram.com/p/CIoBcErDRxy/Tommyinnit finally wins.Or,Tommyinnit fucking DIES like a idiot
Comments: 1
Kudos: 123





	You want my discs, Dream?

Dream carefully travels the rocky, unstable earth of the Nether. He lets out an exhausted sigh and slams his boot’s heel into a rock. He wipes the splattered clay off his mask and looks up from where he stands. In front of him is a boy. He stands on the very edge of a cliff. He observes the bubbling, fizzling lava that sways with peculiar tides, it’s peculiar because the Nether has no moon. He has a tight grip on the items in his hands, such a tight grip that his knuckles pale from it. The Items, Dream notes, the boy shouldn’t have in the first place. The boy does not hear Dream shuffle behind him. He does not hear anything other than his thoughts.

Dream is familiar with this boy, this young boy named Tommy. This boy is a familiar face, one of many. He is one of many he lacks care for; Dream’s the ruler before all. Tommy has blonde hair that has recently grown out and tied loosely. His hair seems a bit dirty, which is disgusting, but he deserves it. His eyes aren’t the same either, they’re duller, and his clothes are dirtied and ripped. This young boy named Tommy has a title of “Theseus”. He earned it by being forced into war and manipulated by individuals he had trusted, or, still trusts. Dream curls his scarred hands into fists and takes lengthy strides towards him. He has waited too long to talk to the pondering boy. He looked so lost in his own mind, too lost in his own mind for comfort.

Tommy takes a low, lazy, glance behind himself and sees the familiar green hooded man. A man he had become familiar with in the past weeks, a man he hadn’t liked ever. Recently his opinion might’ve changed some, but the adult left him with a tight throat. This man named Dream uses him, has hurt him, and has manipulated him. This man named Clay has a title of “Dream”. He is a selfish tyrant that’s hungry for control. He only wants people to bow before him and be his dancing puppets. Even though Tommy he was scared he couldn’t help but feel hauled towards the tyrant as he called out his name. 

“Tommy!” He shouts for him with a tone of annoyance, hidden behind friendly deceit. Tommy hangs his head and mumbles a low grumble of a response. It seems as if he’s ignoring him, continuing to hold the two discs close to his chest. He stands there and looks towards the lava. The ocean of fury and fire seeming more alluring then the cold warmth of acceptance, or what he got of it. “Tommy!” Dream tries again. He takes steps forwards, approaching quickly. He was now only a few feet away from him. Tommy doesn’t even mumble this time. 

When the older man calls his name it feels like hot needles digging into his neck. When he ignores his demands he feels the fiery metal burn into his back. It’s such an intense feeling he shakes. Tommy violently jolts up at the feeling of a hand forcefully pulling him away from the ledge. He gasps and blindly grasps the hand off him. He shoves Dream away. Wastaken stumbles backwards, feet awkwardly trying to steady on the rough terrain. “Tommy, stop this right this now, I’m your friend.” He gestures towards himself with his hands as he sternly commands the boy. He was angry. He was mad, and Tommy was scared.

“You were never my friend!” Tommy claims in a panic, he had to think quickly. “You were never my friend. Not once were you here for me, you were just here to… “, he pauses to think, he was starting to have trouble thinking. He was somewhat familiar with it though, it got hard to think when he was afraid. “To watch me.” The blonde boy lowers his head. He loosens up some, discs hanging loosely from his hands. Dream seems stunned. Even with his mask concealing all of his expressions, the silence is enough to tell how he is feeling at the moment. He’s angry. Soon the male lifts his head and audibly scowls. Without thinking he speaks.

“I was always here for you, in fact, I was the only one who ever visited you! I was the only one on your side. Do you know how stupid you sound?” Tommy’s eyes go wide and he swallows. “You’re such an idiot. Come on Toms, return to Logstedshire with me.” Dream stretches a tempting hand out to Tommy. There’s an unspoken demand hanging in the air though, and it does not seem friendly. He declines by shaking his head. The young boy slowly raises the discs up into the air. He waves them in a teasing way, staring into Dream’s mask with a concentered glare. 

“I know what you really want Dream. I know you’re scared of me. You’re- You are only doing this because you’re scared!” The ruler is shocked. First Tommy declines him so rudely and now he’s holding the discs above his head as if he was a fucking canine. Even though he knows he has more power, of course he would, he’s anxious. Not scared, why would he be scared? He just knows the boy has something up his short red sleeves. The way he seems to be too dominant is suspicious.

Tommy takes Dream’s silence as permission to continue. “You want my discs. You said it yourself, it’s the only thing you care about. You don’t care about your friends, Sapnap, George, whoever! You care about your rule, you care because you’re scared. You worry about how I don’t bow down to you like your ‘friends’ do.” Tommy dances the discs in his hands. He takes a few steps back, one foot halfway off the cliff. He feels the lava’s heat press against his back like an inviting blanket. Clay’s, not Dream’s, eyes go wide behind his mask. The man runs over in an anxious rush.

“You want my discs, Dream?” Tommy asks. His words are sour.

He grins and leans back, falling with discs in hand. Clay reaches out and his fingers slip right past the boy’s dirty shirt. “Then come get them!” He falls. The last thing the boy sees is Dream’s smiling mask going farther into the distance before it retreats behind the cliff. Tommy takes in an inhale, it’s shaky. He allows himself to be vulnerable for once. Nobody is going to hurt him now, the lava doesn’t count. He hugs the discs and tears slip though the corner of his eyes. He screams. Theseus screams and cries as the warm lava embraces his back, embraces his body, and burns him to nothing. It’s quick. Clay can no longer hear his cries. All he can see is bubbles where his body had sunk.

Dream was familiar with this boy, this young boy named Tommy. This boy was once a familiar face, one of many. He used to be one of the many he lacked care for; Dream cares now. He was a boy with blond hair that had recently grown out and tied loosely. His hair got dirty and his eyes would never shine the same either, they dulled just like his spirit, and his clothes are dirtied and ripped. This young boy named Tommy had a title of “Theseus”. He earned it by being forced into war and manipulated by individuals he had trusted. Individuals like Dream, not Clay. 

Dream was the person who did this, he was the monster- not man, no, he’s as mature as a child- who killed Tommy. Clay curls his, what feels bloodied, hands into fists and bangs them harshly onto the Nether’s silent ground. He waited too long to talk to the pondering boy, and now he was gone.

Dream understands now. He bangs his fists into the Nether’s earth and lets out a broken cry. His fists are aching, the cuts and bruises on his fingers are burning. He understands now. He knows why the boy’s hair had become so unkempt, or why when he hugged the boy he could feel his ribcage. If Dream tried he could’ve counted them, he thought, or played a jolly tune to mock him. The kid had looked so cold, even in the Nether. It must’ve been from the lack of nutrition, that also explained his wanly complexion. 

Or why the boy was so determined to sacrifice all of his valuables for a friend. That, that made him sick. He pretended to be a little kid’s friend and manipulate them till they couldn’t take it. Eventually the boy got so used to the cruel routine he gave up all of his things without being asked, with a glare he was set. Not to mention, Dream was proud of what he did. He used to be proud, with a smug grin. He took it too far. It was just a joke, but even he knows that it’s too late for excuses. There was no way to make the situation have less consequence. But he’s trying because he’s selfish. 

He’s a tyrant who can’t feel and he’s selfish. Below him is Theseus, the boy that had been pushed too far. The boy that was mistaken for a hero. He was kid, and a kid he will remain to be. The banging stops and only then does Clay remember that he was banging his hands onto the floor. His vision is blurry but he can make out the fact that his hands are purple in some spots. He stands up with struggle and wipes his hands on his pants. He carefully backs away from the cliff’s ledge. The Nether feels too hot and suffocating. There’s no sky or cold air to wake him from this fever dream. 

He turns around once he’s far away enough and sprints. He travels the rocky, unstable earth of the Nether quicker than when he came. He pants, tiredly, before stopping at an unfamiliar spot in the Nether. He leans on a wall, walls seemed to be everywhere though. Clay is tired, he lifts Dream’s mask and feels his wet his flushed cheeks are. He slides down the wall and buries his face into his knees. For now he can’t face his dirty work, his conscious wouldn’t let him. He just needs to pass out cold, forget all of this happened. And, eventually, he blacks out. There is no telling for Clay if he is sleeping or if Dream is working. All that he knows is that he’s sorry.


End file.
